


by your flesh and bone

by gestaIt



Category: Original Work
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Introspection, Murder, Song: No One Is Ever Going To Want Me (Giles Corey), Suicidal Thoughts, very lightly touched upon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gestaIt/pseuds/gestaIt
Summary: Maybe, in a better world, she would have never raised her weapon to anyone.
Kudos: 1





	by your flesh and bone

_I'm armed to the teeth_

_Like a fucking animal_

_I ruin everything_

_I get my bony hands on_

In a stark contrast to the sun beating against her weathered skin, the sea water pooling up to Amelia's ankles was cold - too cold. A chill that offered no relief in the unrelenting heat, but rather the kind that burnt as deep as any flame could, lending strength to a sensation that felt as though her body would burst into a roaring pyre at any moment, to roast in the fire, as the wicked woman she was.

Particles of sand shifted beneath her feet as she strode further against the push and pull of the currents, toward the two figures before her. Her footprints might have been more pronounced on dry land, leaving behind some distant memory of her existence for anyone that knew enough to remember.

But anyone like that was dead or gone now. And sooner or later, she'd join their ranks, with every trace washed away by the currents of time.

_And here we go, now_

_Over the bridge of sighs_

_We will get a cross like Christ, crucified_

And it was all her fault, wasn't it? Because what use did a puppet have, thinking itself deserving of autonomy? If she had bothered to practice independence long before reaching this crossroads, perhaps she would have wounded upon a different path. Maybe, in a better world, she would have never raised her weapon to anyone. Wives wouldn't have been made into widows, children wouldn't have become orphans, and she would have grown to be a better person.

Or maybe not.

But she never once tried. Because it was easier to act on command, like a dog on a leash, than it was to question and to argue and to _think_. And so it was.

_It's like a birth, but it is in reverse_

_Never gets better, always gets worse_

When she heard him scream, she knew who those anguished cries were meant for. The night before, her father had informed her of a wrench in their gears, and that same night, Ada, a woman she had come to hesitantly acknowledge as an ally over the course of their trio's partnership would breathe her very last, before bleeding out over the sand. And how fitting, that the last words imparted upon her killer consisted of little more than a thinly-veiled threat, remaining stalwart in the face of her own ending.

_'You'll wish this was the last of me.'_

And it wasn't, not by a long shot. She hadn't bothered to dispose of the body, never had with any of the victims preceding her. This miserable patch of sand they called a home hadn't much in the way of a police force, much less a team of forensics to rely on. Answers only came through force in the hands of the people. And most preferred to keep to themselves.

_I'll gnaw at everything_

_New England is mine, and_

_It owes me a living_

Zachary was the exception. Likely in part to the differences in their culture and upbringing, the man was, remains to be, a social butterfly on all counts. When they first met, after he and Ada settled upon the island, his disposition gave off the impression befitting of the average settler, naive to their ways of life and the dangers that encompassed his every step. Ada seemed to act as his contra, clashing against the man's blind optimism with cold, educated cynicism that Amelia found herself relating to. He'd look at strangers like old friends, treat them in high regard, as though any of them were deserving of kindness. Sometimes, he'd even go out of his way to talk to others who very clearly showed no interest in returning conversation, which only inspired him to keep it going.

It was almost as if he could die without even realizing until he stood before the pearly gates, because he was so oblivious. But it was on their first job together as a trio that she quickly realized what his true intentions were. When that mask was shed away, her perception of him would change forever in a way that wasn't for the better. His lust for carnage surprised even her. How eagerly he laid waste to their targets while smiling like a giddy child playing with his favorite toy. How calculated his movements were, and the way in which he executed them with practiced ease without so much as breaking a sweat, which further cemented the reality that this wasn't his first time.

How much love a monster like him had for the woman whose life she had ended. And just how similar in character they both were.

_Step one, step two_

_Step three, step four_

_We fall through the floor_

_Fall through the floor_

Hunched over the body of his beloved, Zachary screamed bloody murder as his hands desperately clutched limp wrists, cursing the heavens and every force above, his tears joining the sea water pooling at his knees, breathing labored to the point of hyperventilation. And Ada - with blood crusted to her lips, and her nose, and the wounds littering her chest, and there was so much that it was a wonder that the sea wasn't running red - her eyes were wide open, with no discernible emotion that expressed fear, or anger, or betrayal.

Just a blank, empty stare. Two individuals whose lives she had irreparably destroyed in the passage of a single night where one would soon become a rotting corpse while one would spend the rest of his life without ever knowing that his lover's killer was the same woman at his side, silent as the grave she had created, offering no words of comfort or condolence, while he sobbed and sobbed and _sobbed._

She had only ever seen emotion that raw once in her life, shortly before it was taken out on her.

Maybe killing him, too, would be an act of mercy. Or perhaps his greatest mercy would be to live in a world where she no longer existed. And it was a tempting thought, with the endless stretch of ocean urging her further from the shoreline, to a place where her obligations and concerns and peers meant nothing.

But that was in a better world, where neither of them resided.

Though the temperatures were already scorching, she found the resolve to retrieve a lighter from her back pocket as she slipped a cigarette between her teeth, conjuring a controlled flame from the small bit of plastic and breathing in the burning nicotine, like it was her oxygen.

Then, in a pathetic gesture of sympathy, she offered one his way.

_I want to feel like I feel when I'm asleep_

_I want to feel_

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of the events mentioned in this are contextual to the story, so consider this purely self-indulgent
> 
> amelia is a terrible person and a terrible friend, spread the good word
> 
> if you enjoyed this edgy, confusing mess, then thank you


End file.
